


The Hidden Significance of Stake Whittling

by EntreNous



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Desk Sex, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Matchmaking, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-05
Updated: 2006-02-05
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Funny how Xander’s memories of Giles seem a lot different the way Andrew tells them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hidden Significance of Stake Whittling

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [The Giles/Xander Song-Ficathon](http://entrenous88.livejournal.com/354103.html).

Andrew rapped smartly on the door before walking right into the office Xander was occupying temporarily.

“Hey, Andrew,” Xander said in an absent voice. “What’s up?”

“Okay! I’ve got my video camera for the carefully constructed segments of heart-felt testimony. I have a tape-recorder for those humorous and pithy sound bites. Oh, and I brought along some good old fashioned pencil-and-paper for the general ambiance of the interview and heart-unburdening session.” He set down a stack of files and balanced the camera on the surface of the desk.

Xander pushed away the laptop he’d been using to check his email and blinked. “Uh . . . Ambiance?”

“You know, for atmosphere. To get you to open up and really ponder some of the lesser known anecdotes that will fascinate generations to come.” Andrew smiled and set-up the tape-recorder while he positioned himself in the chair in front of the desk. “Great. Now, are you ready to spin some of those old war stories?” He took out the pencil and paper he had just mentioned, and composed his expression into one of thoughtful earnestness, leaning forward as though ready to capture whatever gems came next out of Xander’s mouth.

After sliding his hands back and forth on the top of the desk a few times, Xander ventured to speak. “Um. About what?”

“Xander, Xander, Xander,” Andrew tsk-ed at him. “You didn’t forget, did you? You know that this is the time I set up with you to go over more of your contributions to this most important project.”

Xander cleared his throat and tried not to look blank.

Andrew sighed. “Your memories of working with Giles! Throughout the years of his career as esteemed Watcher, in the dark period of his disgrace from the Council that was lit only by his steadfast perseverance in continuing to boss Buffy around, into the most recent memories of his inspirational taking of the helm here at the Council when everyone else important had been blown up. For the top-secret archival and anniversary celebration that I’ve been planning for months? Remember, we spent some time on this the last time you were in town.” Andrew stopped to page through his notes. “Let’s see, I recorded for prosperity your daring rescue of Giles from the clutches of Angelus, and--”

Xander tried not to make the groan audible. “Right, yeah. Though that wasn’t so much a daring rescue as a fumbling and freaked out get-away. I just . . . why are you doing this again? Giles isn’t retiring. Or dead. The whole memory thing seems a little -- I just don’t think he really wants to sit and be toasted or roasted or however it is you want to serve him up at this shindig.”

“Because it is Giles’s first anniversary as the head of the newly revamped Council, and we need to get a jump-start on our recording of the deeds of our illustrious leader,” Andrew said primly. “Plus I want to distract him so he can sign off on my expenses on that last stay in Rome.”

“Uh huh.” Xander glanced at the files Andrew had brought in, at the different methods of recording he was surrounded by, and gave up. “Okay, fine. What do you want to know?”

Andrew beamed at him and flipped to a fresh page on his pad of paper. “Let’s see, the last time I secretly jogged Giles’s memory about your time working together, he happened to mention your help in organizing the cataloging of his collection of occult texts.”

Xander rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you mean when he had me unpack his books the fall after graduation?”

“Exactly. Tell me, tell our listeners,” and here Andrew angled the tape-recorder more directly at Xander. “Regale us with the interesting exchanges and hidden glimpses of the great man in his unguarded moments.”

“Um, not much to tell, actually. I alphabetized books. At least, I did until Giles told me to stop singing that song.”

“What song?” Andrew asked in an encouraging voice.

“The alphabet song,” Xander shifted uncomfortably. “You know. It’s the only way I can remember alphabetical order, much less put things in it.”

“Aha.” Andrew scribbled away, nodding as if Xander had revealed something particularly telling. “And Giles didn’t like this mnemonic of yours?”

“I think his words went something like, ‘If you don’t stop humming that blasted tune, I’ll withhold the Jaffa Cakes.’ ”

“Well played,” Andrew said sagely. “Go on.”

“Well, since I liked the Jaffa Cakes, and we always had them, it was a pretty good threat. When I was over Giles’s apartment, you know, or when he came over to hang out with me. It was definitely the preferred snacky thing when we watched movies together that year, and . . . ”

“I understand that there were some concussions that year,” Andrew prompted him helpfully.

“What? Oh, yeah. I mean, Giles just got hit in the head lots of times, and someone needed to hang out with him to make sure he was all right.”

“So you took that responsibility, knowing the importance of Giles’s presence in the continued mission of keeping Sunnydale safe, nay, in keeping the _world_ safe.”

Xander bit his lip. “Kind of? Mostly I didn’t want him to go into a coma.”

“Of course not,” Andrew said kindly. “And you yourself had some medical emergencies throughout the years, at which Giles emerged as a father figure, a man who you could count on to invest in your personal welfare and provide a shoulder to lean on.”

“Oh, nah. I never really thought of Giles that father type way, even if he came to the hospital to keep me from getting bored when my own parents didn’t care. But the father thing -- he was like that with Buffy, sure, and Willow sometimes, but he never really played the daddy with me.” Xander stopped as a panicked look flitted over his face. “I mean, not _daddy_ that way, with the leather and the ‘yes, sir,’ just . . . uh . . . what was the question again?”

“Giles coming to your rescue,” Andrew remarked.

“Uh, right. Well, Giles definitely helped me lots of times, even when I sort of let him down.”

“Really? Why don’t you tell me some more about that? For the sake of posterity,” Andrew added when Xander seemed reluctant.

“Well, you probably know already about the love spell thing that I tried out in high school.”

“I remember that,” Andrew said. “Girls swooning when you walked down the hall, the cafeteria lady going after you with a rolling pin. Say, did you ever think that her later plot to poison the student body with strychnine was due to her disappointment in never winning your heart?”

“What?” Xander looked startled. “Not until _now_.”

“Interesting.” Andrew made a few more notes. “So Giles was disappointed with you when that happened?”

“Majorly. For a while, I didn’t think he’d forgive me, especially with Buffy getting turned into a rat.”

“And yet he rose above it,” Andrew said. He gazed past Xander and nodded to himself. “Most likely due to his regard for you conquering any lingering disdain he felt over your decision to cast that spell.”

“Or because he needed help whittling stakes,” Xander said with a shrug.

“Yes. Stakes. You and Giles. Carving stakes. Together.” Andrew’s eyes glazed over for a moment, and then he hurried to mark the page he was writing upon with a sticky note.

“Listen . . .” Xander trailed off. “I guess I’m not sure why you don’t just talk to Buffy and Willow. Buffy has all the best Giles advice and training stories, and Willow has research-y anecdotes. Giles and me, we were more thrown together sometimes, but not so much anything else.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows and wrote something with a flourish.

“What?” Xander asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Andrew said. “Why don’t you tell me more about working in the Magic Box, making improvements on the store?”

“Oh, that. That was more . . .” He waved his hand around vaguely. “Shelf-building talk. Hanging out and ordering pizza talk. Not so much about monsters or leadership qualities, and definitely nothing that would make an archivist’s heart go pitter-pat.”

“Ah,” Andrew said. “And yet Giles spoke about it when I asked him about you.” He leaned back in the chair, a considering expression on his face. “He talked about your help and companionship during the period when Buffy and Willow began college. And he spoke about all the work you did to help get the store going. Of course he also mentioned the phone calls you exchanged when he briefly moved back to England, after Buffy died in the battle with Glory.”

“He told you about those? I thought . . . ” Xander knitted his fingers together and frowned at them. “And you’ve been bugging Giles to find out what he remembers about me why?”

“Well. I know there are stories about Giles that are worth preserving, about the librarian behind the myth. Buffy may have seen the Watcher, and Willow may have seen the intellectual, but you knew a different side of Giles.” Andrew paused for dramatic effect. “Giles . . .the _man_.”

“Huh.” Xander shook his head. “I never really thought about it . . . thought about Giles . . . that way . . .”

Andrew made that tsk-ing sound again. “Oh, Xander. Not seeing the forest of your insight into Rupert Giles for the many apocalyptic trees you chopped down together.”

Xander’s lips moved as though he was trying to form words. “What?” he finally got out.

Andrew went on. “But the last few times you’ve been around and we spoke, you didn’t offer so much material. I thought Giles himself might give me leads, since you didn’t seem to think that you had anything to tell about your . . . relationship.”

Xander looked up sharply. “And did he? Give you leads?”

Andrew switched his pencil for one with a sharper tip. “Let’s just say that he has lots of memories about you. Which was intriguing to me, given that you seemed so wary about revealing too much about your time with him. And so naturally, after a time, I began to think . . . “

“What? You thought what?”

“Oh, well.” Andrew examined a spot on the wall above Xander’s head.

Xander realized that his jaw had dropped and shut it quickly. “Hang on now. Did you think . . . you thought there was something between me and Giles?”

“Oh, no, I mean, not something actually _physical_ ,” Andrew answered with a nervous laugh. “But of course in many of the famous friendships mentioned in history, there are great passions that are never consummated.”

“Never --” Xander stood up all at once. “Passions? Are you saying you thought I was in love with Giles?”

“What? I didn’t say anything like that! Nothing of the sort!” Andrew leaned forward again with wide eyes. “Were you?”

“No! I don’t know where you’d get a crazy idea like -- does _Giles_ think that I’m in love with him?”

Andrew’s fingers played at his throat nervously. “He didn’t say . . . as such say anything about it . . . while he was telling me different stories about the two of you. Those words were never _explicitly_ used . . .”

“Oh god,” Xander said. “Giles isn’t in love with _me_ , is he?”

Andrew fell into a pensive posture. “Who can say, really, what’s inside another man’s heart? Especially when one has fought beside him, been a part of his life, for so long? And when that man is the enigmatic and ruggedly handsome Rupert Giles . . .”

“Oh god,” Xander said. He paced back and forth behind the desk, running his fingers through his hair. “I just . . . I never . . .”

“Perspective is a funny thing,” Andrew commented with a world-weary expression. “Sometimes it takes an outsider to realize the feelings that have been building all along, to divine the emotions in the stark narrative of history.”

“Andrew, I . . . sorry, I know I said I’d tell you more Giles stories, but I have to go talk . . . I have to go, okay?”

“Of course,” Andrew murmured. “We’ll continue this some other time.”

He watched as Xander took a breath and then walked rapidly down the hallway. “Yes, Xander. Go to him,” he said with a trembling and heartfelt voice, just as soon as he was absolutely sure that Xander couldn’t hear him.

* * *

“Ah, yes, Xander,” Giles said absently as Xander stormed into his office. “I was wondering --”

“Oh, I know what you’ve been wondering,” Xander shot back at him. “Wondering away, while I was graduating from high school or traveling in Africa, alphabetizing your books and building shelves for your store, and me totally clueless about all of it.”

Giles gave him a strange look. “Er. Well. I don’t see how you could know that I wanted to inquire how long your stay would be. But perhaps --”

“No, that’s not it,” Xander said. He walked the length of the room, spun on his heel, and retraced his steps. “It’s not about how long I’ll be here. You were wondering about movie-watching and pizza ordering, getting hit on the head, and whittling stakes.” He stopped to shake his finger in a warning gesture. “Don’t try to deny it.”

Giles gaped at him. “Stakes?”

But Xander forged on. “Even if you didn’t know it, you still visited me in the hospital. And I didn’t want you to go into a coma.”

Giles rose and began to walk around the desk. “Hospital?”

Xander’s cheeks were flushed as he kept talking. “All this time, I thought Jaffa Cakes were just _snacks_ , and that the alphabet song drove you crazy, but now I see how we’ve been cutting down the apocalyptical trees in the forest of . . . something.”

Giles reached him and grasped his shoulders. “Xander, are you quite all right? I know that Andrew was looking for you, to speak with you, but you seem very agitated. I rather think his questions can wait.”

Xander cupped Giles’s face with his hands. “It can’t wait,” he said in a hoarse voice, and kissed him.

“Oh,” Giles said simply when Xander drew back. He didn’t let go of Xander, only slid his hands down to his upper arms, gripping him tighter.

Xander licked his lips and glanced up at Giles’s eyes before focusing again on his mouth. “I’m an idiot,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss Giles again.

“Wait!” Giles interrupted.

Xander waited, his lips parted slightly.

“I should ask you what’s going on, but . . .” He hesitated only for a moment longer before pulling Xander closer and kissing him fiercely.

* * *

An hour later, the files Giles had been examining were scattered all over the floor, his desk lamp hung precariously off the desk, half-broken and flickering, and Giles and Xander were mostly unclothed, stretched out on top of the enormous Italian leather-topped desk, trying to catch their breath.

There was a sharp knock at the door.

“Good god, unless the building is afire, we don’t _care_ ,” Giles said.

“Just making sure everything turned out all right,” Andrew’s voice came through the door.

There was the sound of footsteps retreating on plush carpeting. It sounded a little like skipping.

Giles grabbed Xander’s hand and kissed the back of it. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, that,” Xander said distantly. “Oh,” he repeated as Giles bit the ball of his palm gently.

“Andrew,” Giles prompted.

“Oh,” Xander said in a slightly more normal voice. “It was just . . . he was asking me a lot of questions. You know, about you, and me, through the years, and it made me realize . . . stuff.” At that point Giles skimmed his hand over Xander’s chest, and Xander gave a contented sigh. “I guess he was swinging by to check out the situation.”

“Funny,” Giles observed as he let his hand drift lower. “He’s been asking me similar sorts of questions, also making me think about, as you say, stuff. I suppose we have him to thank then.”

“I guess so,” Xander said breathlessly.

“Still,” Giles whispered in Xander’s ear as he shifted on top of him. “I’m not signing off on his damn expense reports.”


End file.
